


The new guy

by Level_Nightmare



Series: Higgs delivery service [2]
Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Anal Prolapse, Explicit Language, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Scat, Verbal Humiliation, Vomiting, exposed rectum, poor personal hygiene, some hint of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22293322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Level_Nightmare/pseuds/Level_Nightmare
Summary: Higgs loves the disguises and the Bridges warehouse suit really impressed him. Now is the time to venture into the South of Lake Knot City Distribution Center to deliver a very special package to his beloved Sam Bridges.But not everything goes in the right direction when you have the fixation to put things inside your ass.
Relationships: Higgs Monaghan/Others
Series: Higgs delivery service [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604695
Kudos: 14





	The new guy

**Author's Note:**

> Dear reader, I apologize in advance for the inevitable mistakes that you will find in this story: unfortunately English is not my first language and I helped myself with an online translator. Please keep this in mind and I hope you enjoy reading it as I enjoyed writing it!  
> This story contains very intense descriptions of sexual acts, human defecation and group sex along with many other horrible things so keep reading carefully <3

The whole story of the bomb and the disguise could have avoided, let's be honest. Someone like him, with his powers and his DOOMS, could easily rain the fire of hell in any place and at any time. However, when one of his men landed in the camp with that fucking miniature thermonuclear bomb he couldn't resist the temptation to play a bit.  
Partly with his men, partly with himself and partly with Sam, of course.  
Damn Sam Bridges. Fucked Sam Bridges.

So, leaving the camp at south of Mountain Knot City in his cute warehouse uniform and trying to resist the urge to get it off by his men to enjoy a few more hours in which to get his intestines filled with cum, he used the jump to approach the South of Lake Knot City Distribution Center to decide how to act.

The main problem he has now is the burning. And the itch.

Crouched behind a rocky relief in a hilly area where small canyons and stones hide him from view, he observes the logistics center with a small pair of binoculars while for the umpteenth time he scratches that eager ass, feeling the plastic fabric of the suit damn hot, the skin sweaty and underpants glued right between the buttocks.  
And it itches to go crazy.  
Of course, if he had avoided staying all afternoon to take his men 's cocks, maybe now he would not be in these conditions.  
Perhaps if he had given himself a good wash before venturing into this idiocy he would not now have the sensation of having a toilet brush inserted up his rectum, an interesting sensation as he has already had the opportunity to experiment.

From his position he observes the couriers' sparse coming and going and in the meantime he rubs his bloated hole against a rock, finding it ideal for that damned itch: the rough surface rubs against the tissue and presses right on the swollen flesh of the anus giving it at least a partial relief that will worsen the annoyance within a few moments having stopped.

Perhaps, of all the other foolish choices made in the afternoon, the one to get that damned bomb in the ass was the worst and, worst of all, it was made to bring it out to his boys who are not exactly gentlemen.  
He remembers very well how much he enjoyed, splashing cum in abundance while they laughed and played with his fucking rectum, overflowed out together with a stream of cum and shit and he also perfectly remembers how much every sensation seemed amplified at that point, how much he would have gladly remained to do brutalize his poor guts exposed to his men hoping they would roll them up to his knees and then stuff them again with their hot cum.

There will always be time to do it in the future: he would like to face Sam with his ass so open, so eager. Who knows that asshole does not smell his animalistic, intimate stink and does not decide to fuck him instead of punching him. He clamps his lower lip between his teeth at the thought of finally being impaled by Bridges' cock and takes a look at the briefcase with the bomb.  
Maybe if he opened it and put it in his ass a little longer, he would have time for a cumshot out there? It would surely be the stupidest decision that his stupid Demens head could suggest to him: what if he can't take it off anymore? And then he has that little problem, the one that makes him feel his poor rectum with each movement, pressing into his underwear and sliding softly out, getting irritated against the dirty fabric.

Puff, annoyed. Higgs knows how to be as capricious as a small child when it comes to his desires and his toys but occasionally he manages to put duty before his need to have fun. So he grabs the briefcase, lowers the visor of the Bridges hat and makes the jump, choosing as exact destination an area of the South of Lake Knot City Distribution Center which, according to the findings of his men, is destined for damaged goods pending recycling.  
When he appears in the shadows, he quickly looks around to be sure of being alone: he is ready to put someone who sees or recognizes him out of the game but would much prefer to complete the delivery without problems.

Nobody. Only long shelves up to the ceiling laden with decidedly worn boxes, mainly building materials and some old gadgets left to rot. He cannot hide from himself that all this still fascinates him: when he was a courier he followed his vocation, his pleasure. He loved to load his back with useful stuff and then go out on the street, travel miles and miles to do something good, something right.  
How did he get where he is now? How he got to sneak like a filthy sewer rat to deliver bombs that will sweep away thousands of lives, how he got to consume his body and his time in disgusting orgies where everything happens, enjoying being humiliated by same soldiers who would die for a snap of his fingers?  
What's wrong with him? Something in the head, perhaps. Something in his restless bowels. He promises to investigate about this when the Last Stranding arrives: he will ask Amelie to disembowel him on her Beach while together they watch the universe burn and there, with his guts on her knees, he will understand what was wrong with him.

He chuckles stupidly, thoughtlessly, continuing to walk among the high shelves: never send a jerk to do a cool guy's job. Higgs is distracted and doesn't notice two warehouse workers watching him go by, one of them holding a tablet.

"Hey, you. Cocksucker. Hey!" one calls him, beating the tablet against his shoulder. Higgs stops abruptly and slowly turns around, lowering his head and stepping back, one hand on his chest and the expression of a little beast surprised by a honking horn.

"Oh! Heaven, that scares me! I thought I was alone, sorry! I'm new! The new guy!" he is not a really master in disguising his own voice but anyway, he usually always talks with the mask in front of his face.

One of the two warehouse workers tilts his head and looks at him thoughtfully.

"The new guy? So listen, why don't you go and be the 'new guy' in the A-F sector that would be the 'new guy's'responsibility? Shit, you look like a retarded. Another retarded has been sent to us, Frank? " the storekeeper snorts and elbows his laughing colleague, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Ah! I'm going now, thank you, sorry, sorry!" chirps Higgs taking a few steps back to try to take the opportunity and slip away. Those two ballsacks took him by surprise and he almost sent the whole operation to fuck but fortunately, he managed to keep a little cool. As he quickly walks away, wondering where the hell sector A-F is, he hears the two warehouse workers laughing behind him.

"Hey, new guy! Why are you walking like someone stick a flagpole up your ass? Go ahead, move on, the cocks to suck are ahead!" the man named Frank apostrophes him, earning his friend's laughter.  
Higgs lengthens his step, raising his hand without turning to address them a deferential greeting that is extraordinarily well for him. These things can only tease him, when happen and he treasures it to be able to tell them to his boys when he returns to the camp so, if someone wanted to, he could play with him at the rude warehouse worker who breaks his ass with a giant cock.  
Finally alone again, he starts to dangle among the shelves, swinging the briefcase with the bomb he holds in his right hand. The itching of his poor leaking hole is terrible and does not exclude that, finding the right object, he would untie his suit to give himself a nice scratch inside the guts: a broom handle would be enough, for example. It wouldn't be bad if Frank and his friend found him like that, with a broom stuck in his ass. The idea sends a rush of excitement down his body, covering his skin with a thin film of acrid sweat. Under that fucking blue onesie he will soon stink like a pig.

His gaze stops on some loads set aside and marked with the Fragile Express stickers. Very interesting. He puts the briefcase on the ground and after looking around he starts rummaging on the shelf checking the names for delivery. When he finally finds what he was looking for, he picks up the box and places it on the ground, applying three precise and thin cuts with the chiral knife on the seals. Inside, well sheltered from impacts, there are some delicate Chinese porcelain of exquisite workmanship, painted with themes of birds and mythological animals. He smiles like a mischievous boy who managed to get into the not-too-loved little sister's room knowing that shit is the kind of stuff that Fragile collects.

Fragile. She will be the one holding the cups, weighing them, perhaps using them for a drink. Tea or some other similar crap. What bullshit! He is still smiling, kneeling in front of that little treasure but realizes that he is simultaneously embarrassed and annoyed. So does what every angry boy would do: spite. A stupid, useless spite. He looks around like a ferret in a chicken coop, then bends over the porcelains and sticks two fingers in his mouth, pressing on the tongue and against the throat. He feels his eyes start to tear and the first hollow shake his abdomen then insists until he feels the acrid vomit go up his esophagus and overflow from his mouth, spilling on the small treasure destined for Fragile.

He managed to spoil that too, he ruined everything another time and he hates and loves himself for doing it, feeling omnipotent in his impunity and pathetic and perverse for the smallness of his acts. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, chuckling smugly like the most stupid of the brats, closing the box and sticking the seals back, then placing it where he found it together with the others.  
As he stands up he feels again that strange sensation of softness in his intestine which forces him to bend in two and wait for it to pass, panting and feeling the rectum pulsating softly against his underwear: it is not an unpleasant sensation, quite the contrary. If only he were with his boys he would know how to get away with that fucking itching. Unfortunately, however, he has responsibilities and these responsibilities guide him to one of the conveyor belts, currently switched off, of the warehouse.

He was never in a Bridges warehouse. To be honest, he has always considered the warehouse workers a loser, people who are locked inside the storage sites to move crates while the couriers, the badasses like him, were outside dodging the BTs and making people happy.  
What a losers the warehouse workers.  
He approaches the conveyor belt, watching it stretch like a motionless snake across the shelves. There are some crates laid over which he listlessly investigates, reading names of people who remind him little or nothing of his old career. The conveyor belt passes through a small opening in a large metal wall, enough to pass a couple of crates at a time or something like that: this must probably be the loading-unloading area.

No noise, no voices. The conveyor belt does not move. He puts the briefcase down again to peek beyond the opening, bending over to do it and finding himself reading just above the load on which the name Sam Bridges leaned.  
That briefcase must end up in his hands. He covers his mouth like a schoolboy so as not to laugh openly, grabbing the goods to check what he is, curious like a monkey.  
He is disappointed when he discovers that it is building materials, perhaps something destined for another logistics center. The fact remains, however, that that stuff, that briefcase, is destined for Sam's hands.

"Oh fuck you. There's plenty of time." concludes the stupid bitch, determined to serve Sam a dish very similar to the one he served Fragile. Later he'll deliver the bomb, right? Now instead, he will make him try something new, a little more sophisticated, a little more fun. And it's so funny that he can't help but laugh about it.  
Mount on the motionless conveyor belt and place the case with one foot right next to the mouth where the belt passes, then unfasten the suit, unhooking the pants from the top and lower them together with the underpants, ashamed and excited like a child looking for to peek under the skirt of the teacher.  
He stands on the conveyor belt for a few moments, his legs spread apart, a hand that languidly plays with the soft tip of thecock that drips between his thighs. He bites his lower lip and loves to imagine himself so, decontextualized, out of place, out of his mind, therefore, without further thoughts, he crouches over the briefcase.

"Sam, Sam, if you only knew how much I think of you ..." he murmurs, keeping two fingers resting on the cock and relaxing the intestines that can finally start to empty themselves noisily: his fucking hole is an infected sewer from which a semi-solid flow of shit spray out. Imagine those two fucking warehouse workers when they find themselves in front of that sensational attack of diarrhea on the goods destined for the famous Sam Bridges is priceless, to think that that briefcase that as much as it can be cleaned will never be the same will really end up in Sam's hands, it makes his cock stiffen like a marble beam. He has to cover his mouth so as not to really burst out laughing as he continues to empty his intestines without any brake, pushing and enjoying until that fucking rectal prolapse comes out again weighing between his thighs like a piece of rotten meat.

He is just meditating to get even a good cumshot to complete the crap when without warning the conveyor belt started and he is forced to lean forward, falling on his knees to maintain a little stability. The problem is that while he is thinking about what is going on, his stupid Demens ass gets stuck in the window where the conveyor belt passes, causing the descent of a small bulkhead that blocks his legs just at the height of the knees. He tries to stand up but his back is blocked by the top of the window and, well, the situation has actually degenerated.

"But, what the fuck?" bursts a stunned voice on the other side of the wall. Higgs opens his eyes wide, recognizing as that of Frank's friend, the fucking warehouse worker with a bad sense of humor.

"Dude, you're not well." pronounces the same voice, disgusted "what the fuck did you do, you have shit everywhere, you really are a retarded pig!" again Higgs says nothing, what the fuck can he answer? In short, he must use the jump and slaughter that fucking dumbass probably screwing up the whole plan. Or it's better to keep doing the jerk until he can turn the situation to his advantage.  
But before he can invent something, he feels a sharp pain just behind his thighs, a kind of whip which causes him sucks the air between his lips and opens his eyes in the twilight of the warehouse. Then another, yet another. It is not a whip, it is a coiled rope with which the loser of a warehouse worker is making his ass in stripes.

"This is for starters, filthy missed abortion." the man gasps, while another voice adds to his, obviously is Frank, equally stunned.

"Crap, Horst, what the fuck happened? Is it the new guy? Is it his fucking shitty ass?" a moment of stunned silence that makes Higgs' face flare up and makes him try in vain to get out of that awkward, shameful position, only getting to horribly swing the rectal prolapse smeared with shit that dangles against his balls.

"Ahm ..." Higgs try to say at some point, hearing the silence go on. In reality the two are talking in a low voice but he, on that side, cannot hear a shit about anything "... sorry? Ahm ... I ... I really had to go to the toilet and I'm afraid I got lost and. .. I don't know how it happened but ... my stomach really hurt, I must have eaten something spoiled."

"Shut that sewer that you already have. The other one still open on this side." Horst silences him, leading another lash on his buttocks, this time however ending up rubbing the rope against that swollen block of raw meat that dangles out of him, knotting it between the coils and tugging it downwards, snatching him a surprise sob and the expulsion of a huge dump who flaccidly falls on the conveyor belt. He's really ridiculous with the ass stuck in the window and the shit that drips from his bloated rectum.

"You are a fucking animal. Humans don't shit everywhere just because they need it! Are you an animal, ugly dickhead? Either you suffer from the worst bout of diarrhea I ever seen or you take so many cocks in the ass that you can't even hold your own shit." Frank apostrophes him, grabbing his rectum between his gloved fingers, pulling it down and sticking his index and middle finger inside. "Fuck, Horst, look this disgusting thing and hear how he whines every time he shakes it from that broken ass... he fucking likes it!" the answer is murmured in a low, accomplice tone, something that Higgs can't hear. He only knows that feeling his rectal prolapse manipulate drives him crazy with pleasure and in their hands he is enjoying like a pig, unable to stop shaking his hips to keep him getting wet like a stupid crazy whore.  
On the other side, he hear some movement and, shortly thereafter, the secure grip of a hand around his raw and throbbing flesh that is stuffed by a big cock and completely pulled out.

"Frank, you have a lot of courage to stick your cock into that clogged toilet. You get some shitty disease for sure." Horst comments while his friend, clumsily climbing on the conveyor belt, fucks the new guy directly in the prolapse, using him as a fucking fleshlight and squeezing it around the cock with such force that makes him squeak stupidly with pain and pleasure.  
When Frank filled it with a lot of cum like a grotesque pastry dessert, Horst decides to apply a round of parcel tape to the base of that overflowing stinking bowels, just to make sure the new guy goes away with is leaking shitty rectum that it still dangles from the ass, making it impossible to put it back inside. "How disgusting." he only comments, hearing the retarded Demens whine and snivel as he cums between his thighs.

"Just to remember this bullshit has to be paid for. But, if you want to do them again, first you have to ask us for permission." it reminds him, tearing the scotch tape on which the symbol of the Fragile Express stands out emblematically. If Higgs believed in karma, once he has to get that stuff out of his abhorrent prolapsed rectum, he would have something to meditate on.

"Yes, sorry! Thanks! Sorry!" he whins, hearing them laugh on the other side but, shortly after, freeing him from that damned bulkhead in front of his knees. Panting spasmodically, he trudges to his knees towards the briefcase with the bomb, feeling his rectum obscenely squeezed in the yellow tape dangling out of his ass like a disgusted balloon of raw flesh. He touches it with his fingers, struggling against the desire to start photting it with his hand, making himself very likely to be found after a few hours still there, stoned and covered in shit and cum exactly as often happens in the camps of the Demens when the games are a little out of his control.  
As he pulls up his underpants, trying to settle the rectum that he can't re-insert into his shitty entrails, fucking smeared with glue and tape, the dim light around him sinks into total darkness. This is Moriarty who used EMP to cut power to the Distribution Center, officially giving him the go-ahead for the operation. This means that not far from where he was enjoying with his ass full of cock and cum, Sam was approaching ready to collect his stuff. Galvanized by the perfection of the timing, he hurries holding the briefcase tight against his chest and tight thighs, feeling his panties rubbing everywhere and thrill him out of measure, boiling his blood and fucking his little brain full of chiralium and cum just thought he was about to meet Sam.

And to put his special explosive gift in his hand.


End file.
